


Behind The Bleachers

by plant_boi_potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bleachers, Drabble, Kissing, M/M, Mixed Messages, fight insinuation, short oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27128363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plant_boi_potter/pseuds/plant_boi_potter
Summary: Harry and Draco have different opinions on what meeting behind the bleachers after school means.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	Behind The Bleachers

**Author's Note:**

> The groupchat continues to be the bane of my existence while also being my greatest joy.

“Behind the bleachers, today, 4pm.” “See you there, Potter.”

* * *

Harry turned up in jeans, his knuckles clenched, jaw tight, looking for the face he was so desperately waiting to punch.

Draco emerged with a rose.

“...Do Muggles _not_ kiss behind bleachers, Potter?” Draco looked startled, his grey eyes going wide, a single strand of bleached hair falling over his face.

Harry relaxed, and before his eyes had a chance to narrow, he watched Draco’s as they turned turned soft; puppy eyes. He matched the expression, unknowingly.

“I don’t know. No one really wants to kiss me whenever I’m there .” He gestured to everything outside Hogwarts, vaguely pointing to the rapidly darkening skyline.

“Will you kiss me?”

* * *

Harry left the bleachers with the rose tucked behind his left ear, hands in his pockets, whistling. The bruises on his lips were definitely not gotten in a fight. 

He didn’t care anymore. Whatever he had felt the need to prove earlier had dissipated against the weight of Draco’s chest pushing him back into the cold wall. 

The feel of his lips.

The bliss that came with it.

That same feeling of fighting victory, along with an unfamiliar shortness of breath and a fluttery tightness in his stomach.

He fingered the note in his pocket.

“Behind the bleachers. Tomorrow. 8.30pm, if you want?”


End file.
